Harry Potter and the Tome of Odernicas
by Olivia Wood
Summary: ABANDONED A hopefully somewhat original 6th year Severitus' Challenge fic. No slash, minimal romance.
1. The Letter

**Author's Notes:** This is a sixth-year Severitus' Challenge fic, inspired in part by my euphoria at the real Severitus finally updating her fic, A Father's Sin, (which I'm sure you've all already read), after a six month hiatus. I doubt this will turn out to be overwhelmingly Snape-centric, though. Right now I'm planning to tone down that whole aspect of it, but we'll see what happens. I take my sweet time getting around to anything, so bear with me, but I assure you that, yes, there is a plot. I've had a pretty comprehensive plan of it all mapped out very prettily before I even started writing. Most everything has a point. Also, I've recently come to the conclusion that my writing style is wordy and hard to understand, so this is what you get when I consciously try to remedy that… sort of. And now for a bit of pointless trivia: the first few pages of this fic were originally written… on paper! Archaic, aren't I?

**Chapter 1 – The Letter**

Not for the first time that summer Harry Potter could be found lying flat on the bed in his bedroom at Number 4, Privet Drive, staring listlessly at the cobwebs gathering by the ceiling and contemplating his continued existence. Outside the house the wind howled, thunder crashed, and cold rain hurtled from the pitch black sky. It filled the storm sewers, turned the usually immaculate front lawns, flowerbeds, and gardens of Privet Drive into pits of mud and rotting green gunk, and otherwise thoroughly soaked anyone and anything unfortunate enough to be caught out in the open. Great drops of rain beat against the windows of Number 4, making the panes of glass rattle threateningly in their frames. The storm had been going on and off for weeks now, and if Harry didn't know any better he would have suspected Voldemort of magically interfering with it just to pester the boy-who-lived. But truly, Harry wasn't especially bothered by the weather. In fact, he found the storm strangely comforting. It complemented the way he felt. Each flash of lightning and roar of thunder was an angry protest against reality, against fate, and the now familiar rumble of falling rain soothed Harry's nerves. It was nice to know that the heavens themselves were mourning Sirius' loss. 

Still, Harry thought as another flash of forked lightning lit up the sky outside the window and momentarily threw the shadows in his room into sharp relief, tonight's storm was especially bad. He didn't want to think of Hedwig making her way back through this gale, and as much as he missed her company, he hoped that she would have enough sense to wait it out at Hermione's. He didn't need more of his friends suffering because of him.

Hermione and Ron had written to him almost everyday since the beginning of the summer, often not waiting for a reply before sending the next letter. Harry supposed his friends were trying to make up for their lack of meaningful contact during the previous summer, and that he really should be grateful for the effort, but he was in no way sorry that the raging storm outside put a definite damper on whatever post he would have received. It seemed that everyone who had been even remotely aware of Sirius' innocence had felt obliged to send their condolences, and Harry had found himself on the receiving end of dozens of politely sympathetic letters from everybody ranging from Remus Lupin, Luna Lovegood, and Neville Longbottom to Professor McGonagall, his transfiguration teacher, who also took the opportunity to congratulate him on his O.W.L.'s, Mrs. Figg, an old squib that lived two streets away, and Dedalus Diggle, a member of the Order that Harry hardly knew at all. Harry had trouble keeping track of all the owls, and Hedwig certainly hadn't been happy with the intruders. Most of the letters avoided any direct mention of Sirius, for whatever reasons, but skirted around the issue constantly. Just reading them left Harry feeling mentally and emotionally exhausted, and his replies tended to be rather curt. 

It wasn't as if he had much to say, really. So far this summer had been comparatively uneventful. The Dursleys had been sufficiently intimidated by Moody's threat back at King's Cross Station and largely ignored Harry, which was just fine with him. Harry no longer ate meals with the rest of the family, so the most Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon could do is scowl at him as they occasionally passed him in the hallway. Dudley, still unnerved by last summer's Dementor attack, avoided Harry altogether. The foul weather also meant that Harry spent most of his time shut up indoors, in his room, staring at the ceiling as he was doing now, or else practicing Occlumency, which was an extremely convenient excuse not to think. The only halfway interesting thing that had happened so for had been the incident with Dudley and Mark Evans, an eleven-year-old boy who Harry knew lived in the area, and who, like the rest of the neighborhood, had believed Harry to be a delinquent criminal who went to St. Brutus' Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys. Harry wasn't sure how he felt about the whole thing.

It had been only a couple of weeks into the summer holidays and one of the first finer days of the season in terms of weather, meaning that the sky was overcast but it wasn't pouring. Harry had taken advantage of these conditions to mope around aimlessly through the streets surrounding Privet Drive. He had been wondering who was following him, for someone undoubtedly was. After last summer Dumbledore probably had people watch him sleep, and now that the Ministry was openly admitting Voldemort's rebirth they would almost certainly help out as well… Harry imagined a horde of Ministry Aurors in invisibility cloaks following him around the neat little houses that made up the neighborhood surrounding Privet Drive. It was oddly disturbing. Harry strained his ears as he walked down the road and thought he heard footsteps other than just his own. He turned around suddenly and glared accusingly at the air directly behind him. Now he distinctly heard a rustle of cloth, a shuffling footfall, and a loud gong, as something invisible banged into a nearby street sign, causing it to quiver slightly, followed by soft cursing. Harry winced sympathetically. Tonks? He thought. He considered calling out to her, but as there was a chance that it actually wasn't Tonks, (there were bound to be dozens of clumsy Order members), it might turn the whole thing mightily awkward. Especially if it was someone like Snape who was actually following him.

He had still been in the process of deciding what to do when he had heard shouting from an alleyway up ahead. The alleyway, in fact, where he had seen Sirius for the first time, and where he and Dudley had been attacked by Dementors only the year before.

"I mean it!" a distant voice yelled shrilly. "I'll turn you into a frog!"

Sufficiently distracted, Harry jogged over to see what was going on. He had been mildly surprised to see Dudley, Piers, and Malcolm cracking their knuckles menacingly while surrounding a fourth, smaller figure; Harry wouldn't have thought Dudley would dare to go anywhere near here after what happened last summer. The little boy, who Harry then recognized as Mark Evans, was waving a stick wildly in the air. Piers and Malcolm sniggered, while Dudley turned considerably more and more red in the face, but nevertheless eyed the stick warily. "No you can't, you freak!" Dudley spluttered. "Freaks like you can't do any freak stuff over the holidays, freak! I'll teach you to -"

"I mean it!" Mark Evans shrieked over him as the three bigger boys cornered him against a wall. "I'll turn you into a frog and then you'll be sorry!"

"He means it, Dud," Harry called, making Dudley and the two others turn around to face him instead, but in such a way that kept the other boy stuck between them. Malcolm scowled, Piers grinned mockingly, and Dudley clenched his teeth and turned purple. "The rule against using magic out of school doesn't apply to kids below first year." Harry continued calmly, having no idea if this was true or not, and even less whether Mark actually was a wizard or whether he was just making it up to scare Dudley. There wasn't supposed to be any other wizards living near here. Either way, Harry's cousin was in little danger of getting turned into a frog. 

Dudley looked hesitant, but Piers let out a disbelieving snort. "Magic?" he sneered. "I can understand how this brat can come up with these idiot things, but you, Potter? How stupid do you think we are?" 

Harry chose to ignore the question, privately thinking that the measure of such stupidity could not be conveyed in words, and instead addressed Dudley, who now looked very much like he would have been running away if not for Piers' and Malcolm's presence, and the shred of pride he had left. "Leave him alone, Dudley."

"Or what?" Piers asked maliciously. "What are you going to do, Potter?"

"Yeah," Dudley attempted a sneer but there was a definite quiver to his voice when he spoke. "What are you going to do?"

Harry folded his arms over his chest and smiled nastily at his cousin. "What do you think?" he bluffed. Dudley turned white.

"Let's go, you guys," he said with all the nonchalance he could muster. "This is boring. We've got better things to do…"

"No, wait," Piers interrupted. "We aren't finished here. We'll pound this squirt into a paste," he motioned at Mark, who was staring wide eyed between Harry and Dudley, "and _then_ we'll leave."

"No, I don't think –" Dudley began, but Piers already reached out towards the younger boy. Harry felt an immense wave of anger course through him as he reached for his wand, and he probably would have done something he would have regretted later if Piers hadn't inexplicably jumped back with a yell almost immediately, waving his arm around wildly as if it were burnt. He stared wild-eyed at Harry. Harry blinked. 

Malcolm looked confused for a moment, before apparently deciding that Harry was the offending target, or perhaps the more vulnerable one, and charging meaningfully at him. Before he could do anything himself, Harry heard someone whisper a soft "Petrificus Totalus" in the area to his right, and Malcolm froze in his tracks. A moment later Tonks, because he was pretty sure it was Tonks now, released Malcolm from the spell, at which point he let out a shriek, turned tail, and ran. Dudley and Piers wasted no time following.

Harry stared at their retreating forms for a second before approaching the younger boy, who was still huddled up against the wall. "Are you all right?" he asked awkwardly, smiling uncertainly. Mark Evans nodded and beamed back up at him. "Can you really do magic?" he asked eagerly.

"Er…" Harry shifted around uncomfortably. "Can you?"

"Uh-uh," the boy nodded, carelessly throwing the stick he had still been holding into a nearby clump of bushes. "I don't have a real wand yet, though. My mom says she'll buy me one when we go to London." He looked up at Harry expectantly as they made their way slowly out of the alleyway and down the road, apparently unfazed by narrowly being beat to a pulp by three kids five years older and collectively at least four hundred pounds heavier than him.

"Er…" Harry repeated, somewhat stupidly. He was distracted by staring at the top of the kid's head, which hardly seemed to reach up past his waist. Were first years always so short?

"So do you have a wand?" the boy prompted. "Do you really know how to do Magic? I heard you go to St. Brutus', is that a Magical school? I'm going to go to a Magic school. How did you do that back there?"

"Er, I didn't," Harry said, thinking that if this kid really was a Muggle he could always say he was pretending. "I'm not allowed to do Magic out of school until I'm of age. My friend Tonks-" he said, looking around suddenly, before remembering he couldn't see her, and turning back to Mark. "Uh, anyway, my friend Tonks can, though. She's an Auror for the Ministry."

The kid nodded as if he understood. Harry was doubtful. "I didn't even know that Magic was real until a week ago. Well, I didn't think that it was real. Then I got a letter that said I could go to a school to learn magic and this cat-lady came and told my parents I was a wizard," he told Harry proudly. "They didn't believe it at first – and my letter," he added impressively, leaning in towards Harry as they walked, "it was delivered by an _owl_." Harry smiled at the kid's enthusiasm. Was this what he had looked like when he had gotten his Hogwarts letter? He was pretty sure now that Mark was genuine; the circumstances with the owl and the letter all fit, and 'cat-lady' sounded suspiciously like McGonagall. "So what's an Auror?" the younger boy asked suddenly. 

"What? An Auror?" Harry asked, startled from recollections of his own first meeting with Hagrid. "Aurors are Dark Wizard catchers."

"There's _Dark Wizards_?" Mark asked, wide-eyed.

"Yeah," Harry replied, his smile turning somewhat grim. The other boy didn't seem to notice. He continued to prattle on cheerfully, informing Harry, among other things, that he was going to get his own owl and name it Bob, after a pet hamster that he used to have, that he was going to learn how to turn Dudley into a frog by next summer, and that the 'cat-lady' was going to come by later and take him and his family on vacation to Scotland to visit the school for the rest of the summer. Harry walked him right up to the door of his house before heading back towards Number 4. 

The meeting with Mark Evans had left Harry feeling distinctly ill at ease. _Dark Wizards_. He had owled Hermione about it later, and she wrote back that due to the rise in Death Eater attacks since the Ministry had finally admitted Voldemort's return, and the likelihood of Muggle-borns being targeted, the families of prospective Muggle-born students were being offered sanctuary at Hogwarts until their houses could be properly warded by the Ministry. 

Now, as he lay stretched out on his bed and listened to the rain drum against the window, Harry wondered if Mark's very proximity to himself had made him more likely a target. He remembered his own first contact with the Wizarding World, his own feeling of jubilation on learning that he would be leaving the Dursleys to go study magic with other wizards and witches who were just like him, and then he remembered his first meeting with Draco Malfoy, and how it felt to learn that he didn't quite fit into this world either, that he was an outcast either way. He wondered how long it would take Mark Evans to learn that a significant part of Wizarding society considered him to be beneath them, and that some wouldn't think twice before killing him with a casual wave of a wand. He was exchanging one world with one set of problems for another that wasn't as utopian as it might seem at first, and whose problems could be a lot more drastic than mere schoolyard bullying… although there was plenty of that as well, Harry scowled at the ceiling, thinking of the Slytherins. Was it really worth the trouble?

Was it worth it for him, for Harry? Well, that was easy, really. Even if Harry had had a choice, which he didn't, the prophecy had taken any choice that he might have had away from him, he knew that he wouldn't have been able to leave the Wizarding World anyway, for the very simple reason that he had nowhere else to go. While he was sure that Sirius would have gladly turned his back on all-things-Magical and lived Muggle-style with Harry if Harry had asked him to, Sirius was dead, and the only other real family he had left was inextricably tied to the Hogwarts and in turn to the Wizarding World.

But what about Mark Evans, who already had a family that loved him no matter what? Did his parents know they were sending their son into a world on the brink of a war in which he would be one of the most vulnerable, simply because of his background? Did they know that they were trusting a single sixteen-year-old boy to murder one of the most powerful wizards of all time, or else their son would have no chance of a peaceful existence? The thought made Harry feel sick. He couldn't understand it. True, Voldemort killed Muggles too, and not going to Hogwarts wouldn't have necessarily stopped him from harassing a Muggle-born, but there were other options. Harry wouldn't have trusted himself, he would have taken his family and moved to Australia, and waited there until either the war burned out here in England or else Voldemort took over the world., in which case it would make little difference where he lived. 

It was these kinds of morbid thoughts that preoccupied Harry's mind when the owl arrived at his window. He didn't know how long it had waited out there before he noticed its presence, the tapping of its beak drowned out by the roar of the wind and the rain splattering against the glass. The sight of its dark, ragged profile against a turbulent sky momentarily lit up by a flash of lightning gave Harry quite a start, and he rushed up to throw open the window. The large tawny owl fell into the room in a rush of wind, rain, and feathers, and Harry felt a guilty sort of relief, as he struggled to close the window again and dull the roar of the storm outside, that the bedraggled owl was not in fact Hedwig. Harry carried the owl to Hedwig's cage, where it gave him a feeble hoot of thanks as he pushed some owl treats in its direction, before picking up the envelope it had carried. 

The owl was quite understandably soaked, but the large, thick, parchment envelope it had delivered seemed to have been charmed against the rain. It had the Hogsmead Post Office symbol stamped in a corner on one side, followed by the longest, most complicated list of delivery instructions Harry had ever seen, all written in bright Gryffindor-red ink, in a graceful, feminine hand he didn't recognize. It read:

"Destroy upon the death of the primary legal heir of James and Lily Potter. 

If, by the date of 12 August, 1996, he is still alive and of sound mind, send to James William Potter.

If, by the above date, James Potter is deceased or otherwise incapacitated, send to Joseph and Isabella Evans.

If, by the above date, both Joseph and Isabella Evans are also deceased or otherwise incapacitated, send to Wilma and William Frederic Potter. 

If, by the above date, both Wilma and William Potter are also deceased or otherwise incapacitated, send to Marlene Josephine McKinnon.

If, by the above date, Marlene McKinnon is also deceased or otherwise incapacitated, send to Alice Tiffany Longbottom.

If, by the above date, Alice Longbottom is also deceased or otherwise incapacitated, send to Sirius Orion Black.

If, by the above date, Sirius Black is also deceased or otherwise incapacitated, send to the primary legal heir of James and Lily Potter."

For the first few moments after reading the instructions Harry could do little more than stare at the envelope, overwhelmed by the sheer amount of death it had taken for it to get to him, 'the primary legal heir of James and Lily Potter.' The bright red ink now resembled nothing more so than freshly poured blood. Harry looked at the back of his right hand, where a faint pale scar still marred the otherwise smooth skin, and wondered somewhat vaguely if he was ever going to be able to write anything in red ever again without thinking of these sinister connotations.

Carefully and with a mild sense of foreboding, Harry slit the envelope open and pulled out the contents. Inside was no less than seven of what looked like standard, white, Muggle post envelopes, all of which were unsealed and labeled in the same elegant script: "Dear James," "Dear Mom and Dad," "Dear Mom and Dad Potter," "Dear Marlene," "Dear Alice," "Dear Sirius," and "Dear Harry or Elizabeth." There was also a small, heavy, metal object on a chain loose inside the big envelope, which Harry pulled out and examined first. It was a two-headed snake, he realized, with one head at each end, shaped out of silver and gold and curved to resemble the number eight, with the tips of the miniscule, two-pronged, golden tongues of the two heads almost touching, but not quite, where they crossed the middle of the gracefully curled and patterned body. The whole of it was no more than two inches in length. Four tiny rubies glinted in the eye sockets of the two heads, making the snake blink and causing Harry to half expected the thing to uncoil and slither down his palm. It had to be Wizard Jewelry, he decided, there was no way that Muggles could have kept the little tongues curved like that; gold was too soft. As if to prove his point, the negative space between the two tear-shaped coils of the pendant momentarily flashed bright blue. At first Harry thought he must have imagined it, but then, as he tilted the snake a little to the side, he could clearly see a flash of that same clear blue, as if there was a thin sheet of tinted glass between the coils, only visible when just the right amount of light hit it. But there was nothing there; a thin gold chain was running clear through one of the openings, and Harry felt nothing when he put his finger through either of them. 

Bemused, he slipped the pendant back into the big envelope and pulled out the paper from the one marked "Dear Harry or Elizabeth." The letter inside covered three sheets of plain Muggle paper with handwriting so small it would have made Hermione proud. The front page was headed, "12 December, 1980." Harry skipped over to the back and stared; the letter was sighed, "Your loving mother, Lily." He flipped back to the front and read:

"Dear Harry or Elizabeth,

I'm sorry I don't know which one you are, but you haven't been born yet, you see. You'll be Harry if you're a boy, and you'll be Elizabeth if you're a girl and James gets his way. If you're reading this that means that me, James, both of our sets of parents, both of your godparents, and Alice Longbottom are all dead. It also means that I died rather young, since I fully intend to update this in a couple of years. Tough luck, kid. 

The reason I'm writing this, to be blunt, is that your father isn't who you think he is, and this has the potential of causing you some serious problems sometime in the near future. I'm not going to tell James about this, but not because I don't think he wouldn't love you if he knew. It just seems safer this way, for all of us. 

Your real father doesn't know about you either, but by the time you'll read this he'll be long dead, most likely, so you don't have to worry about that. His political obligations kept us from ever having a relationship out in the open, so there are few who would see reason to call your parentage into question. Your father is a man by the name of Severus Snape – "

 Harry let out a snort of disbelief. Snape? He'd almost believed it for a moment, and probably would have seriously considered the possibility of anybody else being his father, say Flitwick even, but _Snape_? Harry grinned from ear to ear, that was just a little too perfect to be believable. He stuffed the letter and all the other little envelopes back inside the big parchment one. He really should have figured it out sooner, Harry thought as he glanced at the address again. How could Sirius' middle name have been Orion? That would make his initials read 'S.O.B.' 

He was about to chuck the whole thing in the trash when he reconsidered, tossing it instead into his school trunk, which lay open in a corner of the room. Maybe Hermione would know some spell to trace who had sent it. If he had received a letter that covered him from head to foot in orange toothpaste upon opening, Harry would have known who to blame, but he didn't think the twins would bother with something this subtle or elaborate. Maybe Malfoy.

Whoever had sent it, Harry thought as he flung himself back onto the bed, really, how stupid did they think he was?

*****

"14 December, 1980.

Dearest Severus,

I am writing this to you because I am pregnant with your child. - "

Back in the dungeons of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Professor Severus Snape let out a snort of disbelief, leaned back in his chair, threw the letter he had just opened back onto his desk and smiled down at it with an air of good-humored superiority. God, he thought, wouldn't that have been a nightmare? As many fond memories and wistful emotions as receiving a letter from Lily had brought up in Severus, he couldn't have been more glad that she had been mistaken. Harry Potter was the image of James Potter, both in terms of appearance and personality, and being the father of the Boy-Who-Lived was a burden Severus did not envy him in the slightest. He let a thin-lipped smile grace his features and wondered idly how the illustrious Harry Potter would have reacted to the knowledge of how close he had come to being fathered by his most hated Potions Master.


	2. Hogwarts

Author's Notes: I'm starting to not like the first chapter (Summer In 4229 Words, as I like to call it) , so don't be surprised if there's editing in the not-so-near future. I've got pretty much the whole next chapter already written out on paper, so it should be updated soon. If I can decipher my own handwriting, that is. Meanwhile, Happy Holidays, everyone! I highly recommend Delicious Charlie Weasley gingerbread cookies.

*Ack! Fanfiction.net problems! It won't let my update. Why, why, why? (sobs)

**Chapter 2 – Welcome to Hogwarts**

Less than two weeks later Harry Potter was once again sitting on the Hogwarts Express with his two best friends Ron and Hermione. Outside the cozy compartment rain poured from the sky. Again.

"Did you get the chocolate we sent you for your birthday?" Ron asked finally. His friends hadn't really known what to say to him after the usual greetings and hugs had been exchanged. 'Did you have a nice summer?' really didn't seem appropriate.

"Yeah, thanks, Ron," Harry smiled, "and thanks for taking care of Hedwig, Hermione."

They passed another minute in semi-uncomfortable silence. Hermione stroked the big ball of ginger fur that was Crookshanks, purring contentedly in her lap. "So…" Harry said finally, "What did you two do all summer?" It was a stupid question, really. He knew already; they'd written to him all about. 

"I visited some of my Mom's family in Poland," Hermione said obligingly. "It was nice, but, you know…"

"I played unwilling guinea pig for Fred and George's new products," said Ron with a crooked grin. "You should see some of the stuff they've come up with now that they can work on it full-time. Umbridge would have gone bonkers in a week if we had those Sizzling Snot Sprayers last year."

"Yeah, I know," said Harry wistfully, caught up in the happy image of Umbridge covered from head to foot in pulsating green slime. "They sent me a sample. Aunt Petunia was pretty mad when she saw the stuff all over the carpet."

"Did they send you the Bouncing Bogie Balls?" Harry shook his head. "They haven't found a way to control where they bounce yet. The idea was to have them go after a single person, but they tested out a bunch at home and it scattered all over the house. It was hilarious. Mum was livid. She threatened to kick them out if they didn't stop fooling around with the stuff, and they threatened her right back to get their own flat. And, you know, after Percy…" Ron's grin faded somewhat.

"How is Percy?" Hermione asked quietly.

"Percy's a prat," Ron declared decisively, all traces of a smile gone from his face. "He knows he was wrong, but he's not willing to admit it. I don't know what he's waiting for! That whole business with Crouch was bad enough, and then he had to make a fool of himself last year. We'll see how he likes being Junior Assistant to the Minister with Fudge in all the trouble that he's in after that attack in Diagon Alley, right after he denied the second Azkaban breakout and announced that everything was secure and everyone was safe. The great, bloody git." Ron let out a colorful string of expletives that Hermione listened to with interest for a moment before remembering herself and frowning disapprovingly. 

"Ron!" she exclaimed suddenly.

"What?" Hermione motioned at the door of the compartment, which opened to reveal two small figures already in their black Hogwarts robes. One of them broke into a wide smile when he caught sight of Harry. "I didn't know you went to the same Magic School as me!"

Harry stared at the boy for a moment. It was strange and a little disturbing seeing the little kid he'd seen aground Privet Drive during his summers with the Dursleys in full wizard's robes and on the Hogwarts Express, almost as disturbing as seeing the Dementors in the Muggle neighborhood last summer had been. The two worlds weren't supposed to mix like that. Finally he smiled weakly at the first-year boy and motioned him inside. "This is Mark Evans," he said to his friends. "Mark, this is Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger." Mark shook hands with Ron and Hermione very formally, trying to keep a straight face but breaking out into wide smiles all the same. "Who's your friend?" Harry asked, nodding at the little blond-haired girl who was standing shyly behind Mark. 

"This is Phoebe Zabini." Mark announced, reaching out behind him and pulling the girl into the compartment. She shook hands with Ron and Hermione without looking up at them. Then, when Mark introduced Harry Potter, she gaped at him for a few seconds before seemingly realizing what she was doing and hiding behind Mark again. Right, Harry thought, _she_ wasn't Muggle-born, then.

"Zabini," Ron said thoughtfully. "I've heard that name before..." Hermione snorted. 

"She has a brother that goes to this school," Mark added helpfully, and plopped down in the seat beside Harry. Anita quickly scooted into the seat next to him.

"Really? How do you know?" Harry asked, wondering, somewhat stupidly, if the girl talked at all.

"She told me," Mark said simply.

"What year is he in?" Ron asked with interest.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Really, Ron, you've had two classes with him since third year. Blaise Zabini? I work with him sometimes in Ancient Runes."

"Isn't he in Slytherin?" Harry asked, amazed that someone so painfully shy could be related to a Slytherin, the whole lot of whom were notoriously arrogant prats. Harry glanced at his friends; Ron looked equally as bewildered as Harry felt, but Hermione just shrugged. 

"Hey Mark," she asked suddenly. "I thought Muggle-borns were staying at Hogwarts over the summer?"

Mark beamed and nodded at her. "I did. We used the fireplace to get from Hogwarts to the station so we could go on the train with all the other kids. And yesterday we floo'ed to Diago-nilly," he said, standing up and rummaging through his robe pockets, "And I got books and a cauldron and - my own _wand_." He pulled it out with a flourish and waved it under their noses. "It's ten inches long, and it's made of mahogany - which is a type of wood - and there's a unicorn hair in it," he recited happily.

"Nice," Ron acknowledged dutifully. 

Mark smiled down at his wand adoringly. Phoebe got up off her seat and timidly tugged at the back of his robes. "We have to go find Phoebe's brother," Mark declared without taking his eyes off his wand and without the slightest change of expression. Finally he looked up and said his goodbyes to the three Gryffindors, grabbed Phoebe by the arm, his wand still in his hand, and pulled her back out of the compartment, shutting the door behind the two of them.

"Were first years always that mental?" Ron asked after they had left. Harry shrugged, and Hermione rolled her eyes again. "So that was the kid who nearly got beat up by your cousin?"

"Yeah, Tonks stopped it. Well," Harry frowned, "at least I think it was Tonks. I didn't actually see her, you know."

"So you still have invisible Order members following you around?"                                                                                  

"I guess so, yeah."

Hermione frowned. "I'd have thought Dumbledore would have come up with something better by now. It didn't work too well last year, did it? How did you get to King's Cross Station?"

"My uncle drove me, but I know there were at least two other cars following us. Plus, I think Mad-Eye Moody was actually in the car with me." Harry shuddered. "You don't know how creepy that was."

Ron looked sympathetic. "I can imagine, mate. Moody's creepy enough when he's visible. How did you know it was him?" 

"Easy. You know that wooden leg he has? Well, it was sticking out from beneath the cloak."

"So much for 'constant vigilance,'" Hermione muttered. Neither of the others had anything to say to that.

Ron watched the rain splatter against the window for a few moments. "I really wish you could have stayed with us, Harry," he said suddenly, still staring at the glass.

Harry tried not to let the gloom show on his face, but he couldn't quite keep the bitterness from his voice. "Yeah, well," he said, "It was either the Dursleys or Grimmauld Place, and I don't think I'm quite ready to face Kreacher yet."

Ron didn't give up. "But you could have come to the Burrow with us! Our house was warded too. Dumbledore came to help set them up himself. And we had _Aurors_ there and everything, and they wouldn't even let _Mum_ leave the house alone! There is no way you could have been safer at the Dursleys."

"Ron," Hermione began in a very patronizing tone, but Harry cut her off. "Look, can we talk about something else, please? It's over, it doesn't matter anymore, there's nothing we can do about it." Harry got a particularly strained look on his face, and Hermione got the distinct feeling that he wasn't really thinking about the Dursleys anymore. "Let's talk about something else – let's talk about Quidditch."

Ron perked up a bit at this. "They're bound to let you back on the team, Harry, now that Umbridge's gone. We can make Ginny a Chaser or something," Ron waved his hand dismissively as Hermione opened her mouth to argue. Hermione glared at him, but Ron continued undeterred. "We'll still be at a disadvantage, though, what with Alicia and Angelina leaving the team, and us still having Kirke and Sloper for beaters…"

What followed was a rather pleasant discussion of the Gryffindor team's prospects in the upcoming tournament, the differences between N.E.W.T. level and O.W.L. level classes, and possibilities of what the new Defense teacher would be like. In the end, all three of them agreed that no matter _who_ it was, they couldn't be worse than Umbridge. 

Soon after the lunch trolley arrived Ginny and Luna joined them, claiming to have just come back from the new prefects' meeting, the one that both Ron and Hermione had elected to skip in favor of sitting with Harry. Harry couldn't help feeling a little guilty upon learning of this, but he was glad at his friends' company all the same. 

The rest of the train ride passed rather uneventfully. Over the course of the trip they were visited by various classmates and former fellow DA members, and played exploding Snap with whoever happened to be in the compartment. Harry received an endless stream of apologies from those who, like Seamus Finnegan, had doubted his sanity the previous year, expressions of loyalty from those who had believed him, and a late birthday present in the form of an Algerian Singing Cactus from Neville Longbottom. 

By the time they reached Hogsmeade, however, Harry had a strange feeling that something was missing, that he'd forgotten something and wasn't quite ready to get to Hogwarts yet, as if he'd skipped an important rite of passage. But he couldn't quite put his finger on what it was… He had Ron and Hermione with him, Hedwig was safe in her cage, he had his trunk, and he was wearing his Hogwarts robes. So what was wrong?

Harry puzzled over this as they exited the train for the rain-soaked platform of Hogsmeade Station, but it wasn't until Hermione mentioned Malfoy that he realized said Slytherin had skipped their traditional start-of-year meeting on the Hogwarts Express. Now Malfoy was standing farther down the platform, unperturbed by the light drizzle that still fell from the pitch-black sky and by the milling crowds of underclassmen pushing past the platform. He was staring with apparent revulsion at the thestral-driven carriages. "I wonder what Malfoy's up to," Hermione was saying. "He didn't show up on the train. He usually likes to start bothering you early, Harry."

Ron scoffed. "You don't think he's finally learned his lesson and decided to leave us well enough alone? His cronies aren't with him; maybe they got chucked out of school for failing all their OWLs and Malfoy was scared to leave his compartment alone," he added, scanning the platform for any sign of Crabbe or Goyle.

Harry, however, was more interested in what Malfoy was looking at. "Since when can Malfoy see Thestrals?"

Hermione followed Harry's line of sight. "It sure looks like he can, doesn't it?" she said thoughtfully. "I don't know who he could have seen die… he definitely wouldn't have been in Diagon Alley, and his father has been in Azkaban for most of the summer, so it's not likely it had anything to do with him. Do you think his mother is a Death Eater as well? I would have thought the Ministry would have kept a closer watch on the Malfoys after Lucius went to Azkaban."

"You remember his mum from the World Cup? She's as evil as the rest of them. But if you ask me, the better question to ask is who did the little git kill himself."

A hard, cold feeling of anger and dread settled in the pit of Harry's stomach, and it had nothing to do with the resurging gust of cold wind and rain that swept the platform, and everything to do with the his least favorite classmate. "He's younger than any of the other Death Eaters, but judging by how old Snape and some of the others must have been the first time around, Voldemort recruits pretty young."

But as they followed the crowd they saw that Malfoy was certainly not the only student who could suddenly see what was pulling the previously horseless carriages. Here and there students, Muggle-borns mostly, would stop and stare in various states of astonishment at the dark, skeletal forms of the thestrals, and none of them looked happy about it. 

The chatter of the crowd in the Great Hall had a somewhat subdued and morose quality to it, and not without reason. Voldemort's recent increase in activity was taking its toll on everyone. The Diagon Alley attack had finally hit home to many of them the seriousness and the reality of what they were facing. The twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes seemed more subdued than usual, although he smiled as brightly as ever. The sorting hat's song had been uncharacteristically dull and unenthusiastic, although it refrained from trying to encourage unity within the school, as it had done the previous year. This in itself strangely disturbed Harry; had the hat given up on them? Even McGonagall called out the names of the new students with a little less than her usual vigor.

Harry clapped when the other Gryffindors clapped, but he hadn't really been paying attention since "Abbot, Abigail," had joined her sister in Hufflepuff, so it was with no small amount of shock that he realized, after Hermione elbowed him in the stomach, that "Evans, Mark," had just been sorted into Slytherin.

"But he's Muggle-born," she hissed. "How can he be in Slytherin?"

"I knew there was something wrong with that kid. No offence, Harry, but you could tell. And hanging around with that Zabini girl…"

"Ron, I bet you Phoebe won't even go there. And anyway, being a Slytherin doesn't automatically make you evil. All of them can't be evil, that would be one fourth of the school! Pettigrew was a Gryffindor, remember? And Mark isn't likely to start going off about how killing Muggle-borns is good seeing as he's one himself. "

Harry, however, was thinking about his own sorting and how close he himself had com to being made a Slytherin. "We should have warned him against that house. Zabini probably convinced him that Slytherin was the best. Now let's just hope Malfoy doesn't poison him in his sleep." 

"Maybe Dumbledore will let him transfer…" 

The Headmaster was sitting in his usual spot at the center of the head table, his head propped up on his hands, smiling benignly at the newly-sorted first years. To his right was McGonagall's empty chair, followed by Snape, who was wearing his customary scowl. To Dumbledore's left sat a fairly pretty dark-haired woman who could only be the new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor. Harry watched her intently for a few moments; she seemed to be absorbed in the sorting, until, as if sensing his gaze, she turned to look directly at Harry. She looked even prettier from the front, her eyes a soft, pale gray. She held his gaze for a few more seconds, before giving his a small smile, a wink, and turning back to the first years. "Looks like Dumbledore found a new Defense teacher," Harry said finally.

Ron followed Harry's gaze. "She's definitely better looking than Umbridge. Or any of the others, for that matter."

"As if that's such an achievement; Umbridge was a cow. Besides," Hermione added diplomatically. "Lupin _was_ good-looking."

"And Lockhart," Harry added snidely.

Hermione blushed. "Right. So you see that it doesn't mean anything."

"Sure it does," Ron contradicted. "I like her better already."

"Ron, you don't even know her name. She could be as bad as Umbridge. I'd say worse but I think we agreed that that's physically impossible."

"No, she can't."

Hermione frowned "Ron, would you seriously have liked Umbridge better if she were pretty?"

Ron thought about this for a moment, "Yes." Hermione glared, so Ron continued. "And she can't be as bad as Umbridge, anyway. It's impossible. Quirrel had You-Know-Who growing out of the back of his head and he was better than Umbridge. How many Umbridge's do you think the world can hold?"

"I don't think Dumbledore's stupid enough to hire another Death Eater," Harry added. "And he would sooner let Snape have the job than hire another Ministry employee, so we probably have nothing to worry about as far as the new teacher's concerned. Even if she's totally incompetent, it'll still be better than last year."

"We sure are optimistic, aren't we?" Hermione laughed suddenly. "Maybe she's a really good teacher; there's no way to know."

"Well, they don't exactly have a good track record, do they? I reckon it's best to be prepared for the worst," said Harry, but he grinned nonetheless.

"If it really is that bad we can always restart the DA again, right Harry? We wouldn't have to hide it anymore or anything."

Harry's smile faded somewhat. "That didn't exactly end well last year, did it?" The Defense club reminded Harry too much of the one and only opportunity they had had to put their skills to use: the misguided rescue mission to the Department of Mysteries that was directly responsible for Sirius' death. Hermione looked like she was about to respond to the strained look on Harry's face, so he quickly cast around for a change of subject. "Look, that Zabini girl's getting sorted," he said, successfully redirecting Hermione's attention. 

Phoebe Zabini sat huddled up on the three legged stool, looking like she would like nothing better than for the Sorting Hat, which already covered her down to her chin, to swallow the rest of her up as well and hide her from the staring eyes of the crowd. "Ravenclaw!" the hat shouted, and Phoebe got up shakily to join her new classmates.

"Told you," Hermione declared as she clapped her hands along with the Ravenclaws. Ron ignored her.

After "Zercho, Maria," became a Hufflepuff, Dumbledore got to his feet, spread his arms wide and addressed the school in considerably less than his usual exuberant manner. "Welcome, and welcome back," he said. What students had let their attention wander during the sorting immediately fell silent and every eye in the hall fixed itself on the headmaster. "I would have liked to say that I hoped you all had a pleasant summer, but, alas, I know that for many of you that is not the case. It pains me to start off the year on such a somber note, but Voldemort is unfortunately an issue that needs to be addressed. Some of us have already lost loved ones in this war, because as I have said before, it is a war, and all of us are involved, whether we like it or not. The attack on Diagon Alley was a deliberate attempt on Voldemort's part to demoralize and intimidate the Wizarding World. Three of your classmates and eighteen others lost their lives last weekend for no bigger crime than being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Their absence from our midst will be felt, and their memories will be honored in all we do here." Dumbledore paused and swept his eyes around the Hall. Nobody so much as murmured. "But, if we let our grief and our fear destabilize our world and control our lives, Voldemort will already have won. We cannot let him destroy the trust we have in our family and our friends, and we cannot let him stop us from making new ones. So with that in mind, it is my pleasure to introduce you to our new arrival, Professor Dofton, who has very kindly agreed to fill the Defense Against the Dark Arts post."

The school clapped enthusiastically, mostly celebrating the downfall of Umbridge, but also the hope of a superior alternative in the form of the more sympathetic-looking Professor Dofton, who stood, smiled, and bowed slightly at the warm applause, before sitting back down calmly. Dumbledore remained standing. "All that remains now is to remind you all that the Forbidden Forest is still forbidden, as the name suggests. Be warned that anyone straying outside the grounds is liable to be punished particularly severely this year. Unfortunately, all Hogsmeade weekends are discontinued until further notice, but I know some of the teachers are already planning some very entertaining in-school alternatives. I'll let you wonder what those are on your own. But now," Dumbledore smiled and clapped his hands once, apparently signaling to the house-elves to send up the food. "Let's eat."

After a summer of living off of nothing but leftovers the feast seemed particularly appealing to Harry, and he cheered up considerably as he piled some kind of steak goulash onto his potatoes. No matter what was wrong with the outside world you could always count on the Hogwarts house-elves to provide a good feast. That's the way it should be. The familiar rumble of talk gradually drowned out the clinks and clunks of knives and forks as the freshly returned Hogwarts students chatted about classes and grades and what they did during the break… Harry felt himself fully relax for the first time since last June. This was familiar. This was safe. He let the noise and the warmth and the pleasant smell of food wash over him and he could almost pretend that everything was all right again…

"Harry," Hermione nudged him gently with her elbow, effectively breaking him out of his daze. She looked worried, and her tone of voice, concerned and hesitant, suggested that he was not going to like the upcoming conversation. "I know you don't really like to talk about these things, but I've been worried about you - we've all been worried - and I guess what I'm asking is: how are you? How have you been?"

"I'm fine."

Even Ron stopped stuffing his face for long enough to look skeptical. "That's what you always say."

Hermione nodded her head in agreement. "How are you, _really_?"

Harry tried to keep his frustration from showing as he replied. He knew they meant well, but he didn't need to be interrogated. "I'm okay, Hermione. Really. I'm not the one who died." _Yet_. Harry almost winced, the prophecy weighing heavily on his mind. There was a very good chance that he would die. He suddenly didn't feel very hungry anymore, but he forced himself to continue eating, mostly for Hermione's benefit. 

She, however, didn't look convinced. "How have the Dursleys been?"

"Better than usual."

"Did you finish all your summer work?"

Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Yes."

"Have you been sleeping well?" she pressed.

"Fine."

"Do you still get nightmares?"

Harry put down his fork and gave up all pretense of an appetite. "Hermione," he said, and the tired, exasperated tone of his voice was all the answer his friends needed. 

Even Ron put his fork down now. "But you don't - you haven't gotten any more _visions_, have you?"

Harry shook his head, relieved to have something positive to report. "I still get flashes of his emotions, sometimes, if I'm not careful, but I haven't actually seen anything so far. I guess those Occlumency lessons are finally paying off. Or maybe Voldemort's stopping it; I don't know. Or else he just hasn't done anything vision-worthy recently."

"I read up on Occlumency and Legilimency this summer," Hermione offered. "You have to be really careful, Harry. The way it usually works you have to actually be in the same room as the person whose memories you're trying to access, and unless you know them really well you have to have eye-contact as well. It's easiest to do when the subject is in a state of emotional uproar, and it's not done at all when the subject is sleeping, since you're emotional response is usually severely limited when you're asleep. And that's not the way it is with you at all! There's no historical precedent for this. Occlumency might not work with you the way it normally does. Voldemort could be reading your thoughts right now and we wouldn't even know!"

Ron looked more than a little horrified. "And how long have you been keeping this to yourself" You never said anything about this in your letters!"

Hermione shifted guiltily. "I didn't really think it was the sort of thing you could write in a letter...." she muttered "Besides, Occlumency is actually a quite extensive and _fascinating _subject, and I wanted to make sure I had all my facts straight." 

"So you were double-checking _facts_ while Harry could have had his thoughts read?" Ron asked incredulously, throwing his hands up in frustration. "What kind of a friend are you?"

Hermione glared back at him. "Well, it's not like we could have done anything about it even if he was!" she snapped back.

Harry frowned. "Has Voldemort ever actually read my mind? I've seen stuff that he's seen, but I don't think most of it was intentional, up until... up until the last time." He paused for a moment, desperately trying to think of something else. "And Lucius Malfoy didn't know I didn't know about the prophecy..."

"Maybe You-Know-Who never told him? I don't care how important of a Death Eater Malfoy thinks his father is, but You-Know-Who didn't exactly hurry to get the git out of Azkaban, did he?"

Hermione nodded thoughtfully. "I would have expected the breakout to occur much sooner. Maybe we should take it as a sign that Voldemort isn't as powerful as he makes himself out to be?" She looked to Harry for a response, but he only shook his head with a kind of doubtful melancholy.

Just then Ginny Weasley slipped into the seat besides Ron, and Harry gratefully took the opportunity to turn the conversation once more onto Quidditch.

The next morning Harry woke up with a headache. In retrospect, he supposed he should have recognized the ill omen in that and stayed in bed.

It all started while Harry was munching toast and some particularly tangy scrambled eggs at breakfast and Hermione passed him his new sixth-year schedule. He nearly choked.

Ron slapped him on the back a few times. "What's the problem, mate?" he asked, peering over Harry's shoulder at his schedule. "I thought you weren't taking Potions?"

"I'm not," Harry agreed, once he regained the use of his throat. "McGonagall must have made a mistake."

Hermione frowned. "Harry, you got an 'Outstanding' on your Potions O.W.L. You qualify. You should take the class."

"I was tempted to take it just to piss Snape off, but then I remembered that if I did I would have to spend the next two years with him. So no, I'm not taking it."

"I thought you wanted to be an Auror."

"I do, but Potions isn't _required_ to be an Auror, just _recommended_. And Ron's not taking Potions either."

"The only reason Ron isn't taking it is because he only got an 'Acceptable' and Snape wouldn't let him in the class."

"And I'm _glad_ I only got an 'A.' Mum would have force me to take it if I'd qualified. You tried too hard, Harry. Should have thought ahead like I did."

Hermione snorted disbelievingly. "Yeah, right, Ron. I've sat with you in that class for five years, remember? I _know_ the kind of potions you make. And now you're saying you deliberately threw the exam?"

Ron's ears went pink. "Well, I _was_ aiming for an 'E'…"

"Anyway," Hermione waved him off and turned back to Harry. "Ron's taking Herbology instead, which is almost as good as Potions. And Potions is a _very highly_ recommended prerequisite for Aurorship."

"Ah, come on, Hermione, they're going to hire him whether he takes the class or not. He's Harry Potter, for Merlin's sake! He could probably fail half his classes and they'd still hire him. And besides, it's taught by _Snape_. You remember him? Tall, greasy git with the crooked nose? Thinks all Gryffindors are trash and Harry is the spawn of Satan?"

 Hermione looked a bit flustered. "Well, yes, but Potions is a _very_ _important_ subject."

"It can't be that important if hardly anyone takes it," Harry said reasonably. "If I ever need to make any kind of potion, I'll just ask you. I'll just get McGonagall to straighten this out." Harry looked around the Great Hall but Professor McGonagall was nowhere to be seen. "I'll have to catch her before her first class."

"But, Harry!" Hermione sounded nearly hysterical now. "I don't want to take Potions alone!"

Harry blinked. "So don't take it," he said, taken aback slightly. "You dropped Divinations, drop Potions too. You already know it all, anyway."

"But I don't!"

"Sure you do," Ron contradicted. "You brewed Polyjuice potion in second year, remember? And that's a N.E.W.T. standard level potion." 

Before Hermione could respond, Harry spotted McGonagall enter through the doors by the High Table, and got up to go talk to her. He hardly left his seat, however, before he was overcome by a slightly dizzy sensation and his vision got a bit blurry. He was no longer certain where he was going, and why he had gotten up in the first place. He barely registered Hermione's last desperate pleas as the Great Hall turned into a blur of color and noise, swirling around him, pressing in on all sides, suffocating him… until finally that, too, was consumed by a wave of darkness. Someone screamed. Harry managed to stagger two more steps before he passed out.

Author's Notes: My first cliffhanger! Bwah, ha, ha, ha… Okay, so it's not that good, but whatever.


	3. DADA

**Author's Notes:** Uh, this is a bit weird. I apologize for any and all Out-Of-Characterness. Please forgive me.

If I ever manage to upload it, that is. (grumbles…)

**Chapter 3 – DADA**

Harry woke up with a headache and a severe sense of Déjà vu. It took him a moment to realize he was in the hospital wing, lying fully clothed in standard issue infirmary pajamas under the crisp white sheets of the cot furthest from the door, with a grey tabby cat curled up on the chair next to his bed.

It took him a further moment and no small amount of disconcertion, to realize that said tabby cat was in fact his Transfigurations Professor. Harry sat up quickly and put on his glasses, which had been conveniently placed on his bedside table. 

The tabby cat got up lazily, stretched, and transformed into an especially grim-looking Professor McGonagall, perched primly in the straight-backed chair. "How are you feeling, Mr. Potter?" she asked. 

Harry blinked somewhat dazedly. "Okay, I guess, Professor," he said uncertainly. "What happened?"

McGonagall scowled. "You have been poisoned," she said unceremoniously, "Fortunately Professor Snape was able to provide the antidote necessary to counter the effects of the poison, but it was a very close thing."

Harry stared. He felt a little hazy, from the poison, no doubt… He'd been poisoned. And Professor Snape had…? Ah, Snape. Right, Potions. Well, now was as good a time as any, Harry thought. "Professor," he said suddenly. "You made a mistake with my schedule."

If McGonagall was surprised with this change of subject, she didn't show it. Her frown did, however, become a little more pronounced. "Oh?" she asked.

Harry nodded. "I'm not taking Potions. Didn't you get my owl?"

McGonagall raised her eyebrows, but still didn't look particularly surprised. "You got an 'O' on your Potions O.W.L., did you not? I assumed you made a mistake on your course selection sheet. Surely you still want to be an Auror? I didn't spend a good two hours arguing with Dolores Umbridge for nothing, did I?"

Harry shifted uncomfortably. "Well, no, but – "

"Potter, you have just been _poisoned_. Do you understand that? You could have _died_. Whoever was responsible for it will of course be expelled, if we ever find him or her, but even then that doesn't mean it won't happen again. _You_ should have been able to recognize the taste and smell of Sibian Root, the main component of the potion administered in your food. _You_ are going to take Potions."

"But with Snape teaching, I won't learn anything anyway!"

"I don't see how you figure that. You obviously learned enough over the past five years to earn an 'Outstanding' O.W.L., and unless there's a Potions Master in this school that I'm unaware of, you have Professor Snape to thank for it."

Harry stared at McGonagall's grim, determined expression. "I didn't do the summer homework," he said weakly, by way of a final protest.

"That's alright," McGonagall answered briefly, satisfied with his surrender. "You'll still have time to do it. Professor Snape was unable to conduct class this morning as he was busy preparing your antidote." Harry groaned, and McGonagall gave him a faint, thin-lipped smile. "I'm sure Miss Granger will be quite delighted to help you with it. Now if you're not suffering any adverse effects, which Professor Snape assured me you would not, I suggest you get going to your next lesson. You've only been asleep for a few hours, and I really need to return to my own classroom."

It was then that Harry looked around and realized that something, or rather someone, was missing. "Where's Madam Pomfrey?" he asked.

The grim look returned to McGonagall's face. "She was one of the people targeted over the summer," she said curtly. "She is currently recovering in the intensive care ward at St. Mungo's."

Harry followed the sound of agitated muttering to the hallway outside the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. The sight that greeted him as he turned the corner was enough to make him consider turning right around and heading back to the Hospital wing, whether Madame Pomfrey was there to receive him or not: closest to the door of the classroom was a group of sixth-year Gryffindors, all quite familiar to Harry from last year's DA, at the center of which was Hermione, sobbing quite hysterically onto Ron's shoulder, who was meanwhile shooting very dark looks across the hall at the blond-haired center of a group of Slytherins that, Harry realized with a sinking heart, must be taking the class with them. Unfortunately for Harry, Malfoy caught sight of him before he could make his escape. "So you're not dead after all, huh, Potter? Shame. Diggory could have used some company."

Harry forced himself to ignore Malfoy and instead made his way straight for Hermione, who had looked up at the sound of Harry's name, and who now promptly threw herself into his arms instead. "McGonagall made us go to class. She said Snape made the antidote, but you could have died, Harry!" she choked out. Harry returned her hug awkwardly before passing her back to Ron, who didn't seem to be a bit concerned with her sobbing now that he knew Harry was going to be alright. 

"I'm fine, Hermione. Really."

"It was Malfoy," said Ron by way of explanation. "We saw him watching you."

"He must have slipped the Sibian Root into your scrambled eggs down in the kitchens," Neville put in.

Harry frowned thoughtfully. "But how would he know where I was going to sit? Or that I was going to eat scrambled eggs, for that matter? Nobody else got poisoned, did they?"

"Maybe he studied Divination, and saw it in a crystal ball!" said Lavender Brown.                    

"Malfoy never took Divinations," Parvati Patil shook her head. "He takes Runes with my sister."

"He could have used a Time-Turner," Seamus Finnegan suggested, and Harry felt a chill at the prospect of what Malfoy could do with the aide of such a device.

Hermione finally detached herself from Ron, who didn't look at all pleased to let her go. "Where would Malfoy get a Time-Turner? The Ministry keeps very tight control over those things, and they'd never give one to him now that his father has been sent to Azkaban. And if he had one illegally I think we would all be in much worse trouble right now."

"He could have used an Invisibility Cloak and slipped the poison onto Harry's plate once he'd sat down," said Dean Thomas.

"No," said Neville, frowning. "He was sitting at the Slytherin table the whole time. I was watching him. Maybe he cast the Imperius Curse on someone?"

"Yeah," agreed Seamus eagerly. "He could have used some unsuspecting Hufflepuff first-year, and put _them_ under the Cloak."

"If he did, he must have cast the curse off of Hogwarts grounds, or else the wards would have been alerted. Honestly, students can't just go around casting Unforgivables inside the castle! Hasn't _anyone_ read _Hogwarts, a History_?"

"He could have Polyjuiced someone else to look like him." Ron suggested enthusiastically. "Crabbe or Goyle – I don't think I saw either of them. They could have been pretending to be Malfoy while he was under the Invisibility Cloak."

Hermione frowned skeptically. "You think Crabbe and Goyle would have enough brains between them to impersonate Malfoy?" she asked.

"I don't see why not," Ron said indignantly. "Malfoy's not exactly brilliant himself, is he?"

"All he did was sit and stare at Harry," put in Neville. 

But Hermione wasn't convinced. "But where would Malfoy _get_ Polyjuice Potion? It took _us_ a month to brew the stuff and – " she broke off suddenly. All the Gryffindors minus Harry and Ron stared at her with mouths hanging open. Hermione turned pink.

Harry finally broke the uncomfortable silence. "Maybe," he said, thinking of the Chamber of Secrets and his own experiences with Polyjuice Potion. "It wasn't Malfoy at all." Nobody had anything to add to that.

It was at that moment, as if on cue, that Malfoy decided to make his presence felt. "Planning your funeral, are you, Potter? Smart move. You might want to consider sharing a coffin with the Mudblood; she won't last long after you." Ron got out his wand, but Hermione and Neville physically restrained him before he did something he would have regretted. Malfoy smirked. "Make that a three-person coffin, Potter. The weasel will die of heartbreak, no doubt. The only question is over which of you." The other Slytherins chuckled appreciatively.

Harry fumed. "And what are _you_ doing, Malfoy? Holding goon auditions? Where are Crabbe and Goyle? Don't tell me _your_ friends can't even pass a simple Defense O.W.L.?"

Bright pink patches appeared on Malfoy's pale cheeks. "Don't think that I don't know that Granger is the only reason either of you passed _anything_. Cheated off your Mudblood girlfriend, did you? I can see why, she's not good for anything else."

Harry laughed. "If it makes you feel any better, Malfoy, go ahead and think that."

Before Malfoy could do anything more than plunge his hand into his robes for his wand, Professor Dofton appeared at the end of the hallway, and he was forced to grit his teeth and remain silent. Harry laughed again, mostly just to further infuriate Malfoy. 

Professor Dofton smiled around at the students as she unlocked the door to the classroom, seemingly unaware of the tension between the two groups. "Sorry I'm late, but it really has been a long time since I've been here last, and the floor plan has changed _considerably_," she said in a totally unconvincing voice, her light grey eyes twinkling mischievously. She had her shoulder-length, dark hair pulled back in loose ponytail, and wore pale blue robes that did little to hide her slim figure. She looked fairly youthful, but there were faint worry-lines around her eyes and mouth that suggested otherwise, and altogether Harry was unable to estimate her age. 

"So," she continued as the class filed into seats, Gryffindors on one side of the room and Slytherins on the other. Harry sat in the front row, due to the dual virtue of Hermione's insistence and Malfoy's decision to sit all the way in the back. "Welcome to N.E.W.T. level Defense Against the Dark Arts. My name is Professor Dofton." 

"Good morning, Professor Dofton," some of the class grumbled in a monotone, unable to get out of the Umbridge way of doing things.

Dofton looked a bit surprised, but her smile widened all the same. "I see you've been well trained, but 'good afternoon' would have been a bit more appropriate, don't you think?" Several people laughed nervously.

"Now, I'm aware that your education in this field has been rather fragmented, and that last year was spent entirely on theory, but as all of you managed to pass your O.W.L., we shouldn't have much of a problem. But we'll deal with that later," said Professor Dofton, her smile growing wider still as she strolled impressively around to the front of her deck and perched herself on top of the edge of it with an air of supreme satisfaction, crossing her legs daintily.

"Right. Now, since we're going to be spending quite a bit of time together in the coming year, I think it's a good idea if we all got to know each other a little. So," she said, slipping her wand out of the sleeve of her robes and twirling it expertly between the fingers of her right hand. "I'll go first. I was born in France, but my parents were both English, and I grew up in Wales. I was a Ravenclaw here at Hogwarts during the seventies – I'll let you figure out my age for yourselves – and I joined the Ministry as a Hit Wizard after leaving school. I would have become an Auror, but that requires three years of training, and the need for law enforcement was rather urgent back then, as I'm sure you're all aware. Besides," she added with a smirk. "My transfigurations grades were never that good. McGonagall was just as strict back then as she is now, I can tell you. 

"The Hit Wizards were disbanded after shortly after You-Know-Who's disappearance, but that doesn't mean I didn't get in a fair bit of practical experience, and I've got the scars to prove it." Her smile turned somewhat grim, Professor Dofton pulled back the left sleeve of her robes and showed the class her bare forearm. For a moment Harry thought Dofton was going to show them the Dark Mark, but what he saw instead was a deep and very nasty looking scar that ran from the base of her thumb all the way up to her elbow. Several members of the class gasped, and Lavender Brown let out a squeal of horror. 

"A normal slashing hex would be quite easy to heal magically, but you can always trust Death Eaters to come up with something nasty…" Professor Dofton pulled her sleeve back down and continued with her narrative. "After the end of the war I returned to France, where I spent the last twelve years working for an independent investigative agency. This is my first teaching position, and you are my very first class. Congratulations!"

The self-satisfied grin was back on Dofton's face and she slid gracefully off the desk and began pacing in front of the room, her wand twirling in her hand again. "My favorite color is turquoise, my favorite food is salmon in cream-of-mushroom sauce, and I simply _detest_ grammatical errors of any kind, so if I ever give a written assignment make sure you don't make any." By this time, her smile could only be described as gleeful. "Alright," she said, stopping right in front of Harry's desk. "That's enough about me, now let's hear something about you." She rapped the knuckled of her left hand on Harry's desk. "You start."

Harry, who had been somewhat distracted by the still twirling wand in Dofton's right hand, looked up at her, startled. "What?"

Professor Dofton sighed with exaggerated patience and waved her wand theatrically up and down in front of Harry's face. "Tell me something about yourself."

"Er…," Harry began stupidly. Several of the Slytherins sniggered.

"You can start with your name," Professor Dofton added helpfully, but Harry could tell by the mirth in her eyes that she already knew his name.

"My name is Harry Potter," Harry said reluctantly.

"And?" Professor Dofton prompted, now leaning with both her palms down flat against his desk. "Is there anything important I should know about you?"

Harry shrugged, uncomfortably aware of how close to him she was. "These are my best friends Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger," he pointed to either side of himself, where Ron and Hermione were sitting.

Dofton raised her eyebrows. "Is that it?"

"And my favorite color is black," he finished defiantly.

Professor Dofton looked a bit disappointed as she straightened up, but she flashed Harry a wide smile all the same, before moving over to Ron and rapping her wand on his desk. "How about you?" she demanded.

"Uh, my name is Ron Weasley," Ron began nervously. "I have five older brothers and one younger sister… I'm the Keeper of the Gryffindor team, and I've never lost a game. Of chess." Several people, including Harry, laughed.

After that Dofton moved on to Hermione. "My name is Hermione Granger, I received 14 'Outstanding' O.W.L.s last year, and I'm the president of the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare, whose goal is to improve the social standing and protect the rights of House-Elves worldwide."

Lavender Brown talked about her enthusiasm for Divinations and her new bunny called Buffy. Dean Thomas gave them all a very lengthy and very passionate explanation of the virtues of the Muggle game of soccer, until Professor Dofton finally cut him off to move on to Parvati Patil, who mentioned her twin sister, her friendship with Lavender, and her boyfriend at Bauxbatons. Seamus Finnegan talked about his Irish heritage and Neville Longbottom bored them with his love of all things Herbology, including his Mimbulus Mimbletonia, and his ambition to continue in the field after school. 

And so, whether by accident of by design, although Harry would have bet on the latter, judging by Dofton's general provocative manner and the wicked gleam in her eye, the Defense professor finished questioning all the Gryffindors before moving on to the first Slytherin. The front row of seats on the Slytherin side of the room was empty, so Dofton moved on to the second, and sat down on top of the desk directly in front of Pansy Parkison. "And who might you be?" she asked cheerfully.

Pansy looked disgusted, more so than usual. "Pansy Parkison," she sneered. Dofton waved her on so she continued. "I enjoy singing operas, skipping through fields of flowers and petting fluffy bunny rabbits. I think your dress robes are just _gorgeous_, and DADA is my _very favorite_ class." If Pansy had thought her sarcasm would get a reaction out of Dofton she was disappointed. 

The Professor returned Pansy's sickeningly sweet smile with a deeply amused and superior smirk, and turned to the black-haired girl next to her, whom Harry vaguely recognized as one of the girls who occasionally laughed at Pansy's jokes, but whom he had never noticed specifically before. She claimed that her name was Anita Nevski, and that she owned an adorable purple puffskein named Grindelwald. 

Next was a boy named Theodore Nott, who went to Harry's Care of Magical Creatures class, could see thestrals, and had a Death Eater father. He didn't say any of this, however; what he said was that he possessed the power to talk to plants. After him was a tall, nondescript-looking brown-haired boy who admitted to going by the name of Blaise Zabini, but claimed his right to silence when questioned further. Harry remembered Phoebe Zabini, and decided that Blaise could have almost passed for a Ravenclaw. 

Another Arabic-looking girl stood up and began "My name is Isabella Stearns, and I am an alcoholic." Dofton actually laughed at that, and even Harry had to admit that the obviously Muggle reference was pretty funny. Pansy and some of the other Slytherins threw Isabella dark looks, but she just shrugged and sat back down.

All in all, the only Slytherin whose answer could have had the tinniest bit of sincerity was Millicent Bullstrode, although Harry was willing to write that off as stupidity over anything else. She claimed to be the descendant of a Gorgon. Dofton enjoyed herself tremendously throughout the whole thing.

And then they reached the very back of the room and it was Malfoy's turn. He made a show out of standing up, getting his wand out of the inner pocket of his robes, and attempting to twirl it between his fingers in an obvious imitation of Dofton, but dropping it clumsily down on the desk. "Oops," he smiled sweetly at the Professor before clearing his throat loudly and beginning in his usual drawl, "My name is Draco Malfoy, I was born in June of 1981, and my hair is naturally blond." He paused as if for effect.

Dofton seated herself back on top of her desk and made every appearance of getting ready to listen to a long and deeply interesting tale. Malfoy continued in the most insolent tone he could manage. "My mother enjoys gardening and painting landscapes in watercolor. My father has recently escaped Azkaban prison to rejoin the ranks of the Dark Lord's inner circle and wreck havoc on the unfaithful majority of the Wizarding World. He enjoys killing, torturing, and raping – not necessarily in that order – Mudbloods, Muggle-lovers, and ex-Hit Witches." The class was deadly still. 

Dofton raised her eyebrows. The grin was still plastered on her face but it was now most definitely forced. "That's all well and good, Mr. Malfoy, but we're here to hear about you, not your father."

Malfoy shrugged his shoulders in a grotesque parody of innocence. "I just thought you would appreciate some background information, Professor." He cleared his throat again before continuing. "My favorite color is green, and my favorite food is Lasagna. My lifetime goals include obtaining a complete set of Chocolate Frog cards, becoming a professional Quidditch player, and bringing about the slow, bloody, and _very painful_ death of one Harry Potter, then casting his mutilated remains into a pit of rabid _pixies_, then feeding the pixies to Granger's cat, preferably in the presence of the Mudblood herself and her pet Weasel."

Malfoy did a remarkably good job of keeping his gaze focused on Professor Dofton throughout his speech, but even so Harry was taken aback by the level of hatred in his eyes, more so than with the actual meaning of his words. Since when was Malfoy anything more than a petty school rival? Did he, Harry, hate anyone that badly? Voldemort, for sure… and Bellatrix. But Malfoy? Sure he was an annoying little git, but Harry couldn't really hate him, not in the way he hated Voldemort.

Malfoy took a deep breath and continued in a somewhat calmer tone, but his face was now blotched angry read, and his fury was this time most definitely directed at Dofton. "That's illegal, you _bitch_," he choked out the slur through clenched teeth. Dofton, who had been watching Malfoy intently the whole time, blinked and shook her head slightly before focusing back on him. 

"Did what?" she asked in her own brand of mock innocence. Malfoy turned his gaze down to stare at his desk and fumed silently. Harry could almost feel the anger radiating off of him in waves. "Stay after class, Mr. Malfoy," Dofton said easily, but without a trace of a smile on her face. "The rest of you are dismissed."

"What the hell just happened in there?" Ron asked Harry and Hermione as the three of them took the scenic route back to Gryffindor tower less than five minutes later. Harry was just as bewildered as Ron was, but Hermione looked like she had an idea. Unfortunately, the slight frown on her face suggested she wasn't one hundred percent certain, meaning that they would have to drag whatever it was out of her. "Other than Malfoy practically admitting that it _was_ him that poisoned Harry, I mean," Ron continued. "What was he talking about when he said that what Dofton did was illegal? She didn't _do_ anything. Do you reckon he's finally cracked?"

Hermione rolled her eyes, something she'd been doing a lot lately, Harry thought. "Of course he hasn't cracked. Well, not really, anyway. It's just that…" she trailed off thoughtfully.

"So what happened, then?" Ron prompted impatiently.

"Well…"

"Hermione," said Harry, "just tell us already, will you! What do you know that we don't?"

She looked a bit put out. "It's not that I _know_ anything."

"Well, what do you _think_, then?"

"What I think," Hermione said finally, "is that - and it's pretty obvious, really - Professor Dofton is a Legilimens."

It took a second for Harry and Ron to register the implications of that statement.

"What?" asked Ron, flabbergasted. "How do you figure that?"

"Honestly," said Hermione, shaking her head. "You two need to learn to think: for one thing, she's worked for an _investigative_ _agency_ for twelve years. What kind of skills do you think would be useful for that kind of thing? And Legilimency _is_ illegal, or at least unconsensual Legilimency is." 

"So you mean Malfoy wouldn't normally have said all that stuff about wanting to kill me?"

"Well, no, he would have. Legilimency can't be used to actually alter a person's actions; if it could, there would be no need for the Imperius Curse -  I told you Harry, you're not normal. 

"Malfoy would have said all that stuff anyway, but he was visibly upset, and that's one of the things that make Legilimency easier. Professor Dofton could have used the opportunity to access his mind. She kept eye contact with him the whole time, if you noticed."

Harry nodded. "Do you think she can get in trouble for that? Since it's illegal and all, I mean."

"I doubt it," said Hermione. "Who's going to believe Malfoy? His father's a Death Eater, and everyone knows it now. Besides," she frowned distastefully, "he just got done confessing his desire to feed you to Crookshanks."

"Stupid thing to do, really," said Ron. "Now we all know it was him that poisoned Harry. He incriminated himself."

"No, we don't know anything," Harry interrupted. "I don't think he could have pulled it off. He's always saying stuff like that, but he's too much of a coward to actually do anything about it."

"You should still be really careful, Harry. He's always said stuff before, but nothing _that_ bad. And even if it wasn't Malfoy, _someone_ poisoned you."

"It's not like I haven't almost died before," Harry shrugged and changed the subject. "Do you think Dumbledore had a specific reason for hiring a Legilimens, or is that just a useful skill that Dofton happens to have?"

Even Ron rolled his eyes this time. "Let's think, Harry. What could Dumbledore possibly want with a Legilimens that _isn't Snape_? You never really said anything, but Hermione and me somehow got the impression that last year's lessons didn't go all that great."

Harry tried to look offended as they rounded the corner and proceeded down yet another semi-deserted corridor. "They didn't go _that_ bad… well, actually, they did. But that was mostly my own fault," and it hurt to admit that. If Harry had just tried to actually listen to Snape, Sirius might have still been alive now. "And anyway, I don't need any help anymore. You said yourself that what I do with Voldemort isn't normal legilimency, Hermione. I doubt Dofton would be able to help any. If you ask me, she seemed more concerned with the Slytherins than anything."

"Maybe Dumbledore wanted her to sort the potential Death Eaters from the rest of the harmless little snots, if there is such a thing as a 'harmless' Slytherin. That would explain Malfoy getting legilimized."

But Hermione shook her head. "Malfoy only got 'legilimized' because he was upset and an easy target. Dofton took advantage of the situation. Mind you, other than that, it was a good way to start off a Slytherin class. She let them do their worst right from the start, and showed them they couldn't get to her," she said. "I wonder what she'll do to Malfoy."

Ron looked hopeful. "You think he can get expelled for threatening a teacher and a fellow student?"

"I doubt it," said Harry. "Unless someone does prove that it was him who poisoned me. And Dofton invaded Malfoy's mind illegaly, so I guess it evens out. You can't expel someone for throwing a fit," Harry winced slightly, "or else Dumbledore would have had to throw me out for wrecking his office last year. I reckon he'll just get off with a warning and maybe a couple of detentions, depending on what Dofton saw."

Hermione frowned. "That was pretty graphic, though, even for Malfoy. I wasn't aware he even knew I had a cat."

"His father has just been revealed to be an evil Death Eater and sent to prison," said Ron wisely. "It must be pretty upsetting, losing all that political influence and crap."

Harry shrugged. "Still, you'd think he'd get over it now that Lucius is out of Azkaban. It's not like it's my fault his father's a Death Eater in the first place," he said bitterly. "_My_ godfather is _dead_, and that _is_ my fault. Stupid prat."

Hermione and Ron never did figure out if the last two words referred to Malfoy, Sirius, or Harry himself.

**Author's Notes:** Next chapter: Stuff happens! Time passes really quickly! I get through all the rest of the introductory crap; the real plot starts after Halloween. J As always, please Review.


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